A/N: So what's up guys? It's only been almost three months. I've definitely gone longer without updating. I just had a busy summer I suppose. Lame excuses believe me I know, but it was the good kind of busy summer. Played the PS4, hung out the girlfriend, played LOTRO (Don't judge I like it), but school started back up, I have the shittiest professor for math, so I've been busy. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!
Ooh, also, people addressed why Eragon couldn't simply just state in the Ancient Language that he was innocent. Well Eragon does know the name of the Ancient Language, something that Arya knows as well. So for all they know, Eragon could state something in the Ancient Language and still totally lie about it because he changed the meaning of the words.
Disclaimer: Yeah not mine, I get it.
Eragon sat on the stool, a dart in one hand, four in the other. Effortlessly, he threw the dart at the dartboard, hitting it dead in the center, earning him a good one hundred dollars on the spot. He moved a dart from his left hand to his right, and threw another one, hitting the center again, giving him another one hundred dollars. Three darts later, he had earned a total of five hundred bucks in cold hard cash.
The man across the table glared at him, the two girls on his arms not looking very happy that their client just had lost five hundred bucks. There was a good probability that those five hundred were what he was going to pay them with too. Eragon raised his glass towards the man, smirked, and then tipped the glass back and downed the rest of the liquor, setting it bottoms up on the table.
He pocketed his cash and left the table without saying a word.
A wooden chair being pushed back behind got his attention.
"I aren't gonna let no cheater steal my money!" The man drawled in a half drunken accent.
What that's saying about booze? Never mind, there's dozens of them, Eragon thought.
Booze gives balls? His blue eyed companion asked. I think that's probably the one you're looking for.
Really? I've never heard that one before. Are you sure it's real? He inquired.
Who knows? But in my defense I think it's true, his companion supplied.
Eragon turned around and noticed that not even half a second had passed and they had already carried out a conversation. The man he had just beaten in a rather one-sided game of darts came storming at him, stumbling all the way. The drunken man attempted to throw a punch, but Eragon easily caught it in his right fist.
"Lemma goes ya bastard!" The drunken man shouted.
Eragon could barely understand what the hell the man was saying, but when he finally did comprehend the foreign language of what is known as Drunk, he twisted the man's arm and flipped him over his shoulder, causing the drunken man to land on his incredibly large belly, which deflated and sent vomit bursting out of his mouth.
He shook his head in disgust and walked towards the exit of the bar, his companion joining him. Once again he was disgusted by these men. They openly leered at her, and were practically stripping her naked with their eyes. He did admit that she was beautiful yes, with her round sapphire eyes, and blond hair with natural blue streaks, but he didn't love her in that sense. She was practically his sister.
When he looked away from his companion, he saw one man blocking the exit/entrance to the bar, and he was glaring at Eragon.
When they reached the entrance, Eragon stopped before the man, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Do you need something?" Eragon asked in a polite, yet mocking tone.
The enormous man in front of him smiled, and with disgust Eragon noticed that the man was missing several teeth. Humans drunk on Earth weren't very different than those drunk in Alagaesia.
"I'm gonna need that five hundred you just stole from my buddy over there, and since you knocked him down, I'm gonna have to take your girl too," the man sneered.
The man snatched his hand towards Saphira's arm, and pulled her towards him. That proved to be his undoing.
Due to the force of him pulling Saphira, she was forced to spin in a circle, but her quick reflexes kicked in. She elbowed him in the sternum, which caused a crack sound, and the man bent over in pain, or at least he tried to. His face was met with Saphira's left elbow, which she had been raising at the time.
The man, now with a broken nose, bloody lip, and a cracked sternum, fell over on the ground.
Facing the door, he heard a cacophony of one noise. Wooden chairs being pushed back and men all standing up at one time.
Eragon smiled and cracked his neck.
He would never get tired of this planet.
Three hours later, he didn't have the same train of thought.
"Heill eka," Eragon said holding his left palm against the left side of his face, where some idiot had smashed him across the face with a beer bottle. He had removed the small chunks of glass from his skin and then stated the words of healing. Why didn't he think to put wards around him protecting him from beer bottles?
"Oh relax, it's not like I thought of it either, and I have to be at least three times as smart as you," Saphira chirped in as she walked into their apartment living room dressed in a green t-shirt, which was probably his, and blue shorts. She had obviously just taken a shower due to the fact that she had a towel wrapped around the top of her head and that water was still dripping down her legs.
"Why'd you take a shower?" He asked.
She glared at him as if he was the perpetrator. "Some prick decided it would be funny to pour beer all over my head while I wasn't looking."
Eragon shrugged and tried not to smile. But since their minds were intertwined, Saphira knew what he was thinking.
"It's not funny!" She shouted.
Eragon this time didn't need to hold back a smile. He knew from his time in Tennessee, which was quite limited compared to his time everywhere else on Earth, you always respect a woman, apparently even if you were in a bar fight.
"Damn straight you respect a woman in a bar fight," Saphira responded to his thoughts. Saphira yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "I think I'm gonna head to bed. I'm exhausted and you should be too. You were the idiot who took the brunt of the attacks."
"You were the one who just said to respect women in bar fights!" Eragon exclaimed.
"And you should, but you should let me knock some of the guys out too," Saphira chastised. She sighed in an exasperating sort of way, and said her parting, "Goodnight Eragon."
"'Night Saphira," Eragon said while yawning. Saphira stood up from the couch and walked behind it, kissing him on the top of a head before she walked towards her room. Eragon sat on the couch for a few more moments, relishing in the silence of their apartment. When they had first moved into the apartment eight years ago it had been like living in a trash bag. With the help of lots and lots of magic, an argument over the color of the paint on the walls, and eventually the windows had been replaced along with the floorboards and voila. The place was livable for probably the first time in its life.
Eragon and Saphira then performed dozens of spells and counter-spells so that nobody could hear inside the apartment, or look inside it with any of the latest technology, and the two even made sure they couldn't hear outside the apartment so they wouldn't hear the constant hustle and bustle of New York City.
He stood up and walked towards a painting depicting three massive creatures. One was obviously the enemy in the painting, while the other two smaller ones were quite clearly trying to kill the giant beast. It was a fairth that Saphira had made for him when he was dying from a plague quite some time before Elvis, which was basically how he kept track of time over the years. Magic had no effect at all against the disease, which caused the most worry in Eragon and Saphira. Eragon had probably only survived because he continued to drain energy from the pommel of his sword, Brisingr.
The fairth showed a giant black beast, attempting to fend off Saphira and another red dragon whose name he couldn't recall, which he ultimately failed at doing. But his faithful companion was no longer a dragon. She had only two legs instead of four, and shoulder blades instead of wings. He used to be able to feel her yearning of to have wings again, but now that yearning was no longer there, if not gone. She couldn't even remember her time as a dragon. He even used to miss flying as well, and flying in an airplane didn't cut it. But now the only thing he cared for was Saphira.
Another large yawn escaped his mouth, and he gently reminded himself that he needed sleep, or else he would fall asleep at his desk again, which wasn't a very nice experience in the first place. Thank God for his wards.
A frown formed upon his face at his use of the saying. God. It was still hard to believe, even after all these years on Earth, that the dominant religion focused on one deity. On Earth it was just... different. Eragon didn't believe in any higher being, but he felt something different on Earth. Miracles took place, and sometimes it did seem like magic happened (not by his or Saphira's doing).
A coworker, and friend of his Rachel, had given birth to her first son, and when he was born they discovered that his esophagus wasn't even connected to his stomach. Rachel's baby should have died instantly, but he didn't. He was a strong little boy at the age of two, yet he was fighting a deadly battle against cancer.
He still didn't believe in any other higher being than dragons, which were mere speculation to if they ever even existed on Earth.
Eragon turned his eyes away from the fairth and looked at the next one along the wall. It was a hand drawn map of Alagaesia to the best of his abilities. All over the map there were small towns like Melian, Furnost, Yazuac, and even Hedarth on the right side of the map. Beyond that went were the Edda River and the Az Ragni river met, and went into a vast expanse of ocean, and beyond that was one of the islands they had found suitable enough for the next generation of Dragon Riders. Naturally, it all went downhill from there. He drew it thousands of years ago, when he was still able to remember what Alagaesia looked like.
He pushed those dreadful memories away from his thoughts and he turned away from the two fairths that lined the wall. Eragon walked towards the entrance to his room, just opposite the hall from Saphira. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door with his foot behind him. Immediately he began taking off his clothes until he was in his boxers, and from there he pulled on a pair of long, cotton, pajama bottoms and slipped under the covers of his bed, which smelled entirely of cinnamon. He lay down on his stomach, his right arm lying limp at his side, while his left went under the pillow and grasped the brightsteel pistol.
And this was how he went to sleep every night, and whenever he decided to take a nap, which was rare considering he and Saphira had an unspoken agreement that during the day one had to always be awake if the other was sleeping. With one final sigh, he left into the world of dreams.
He sat on the ever-rocking brig, watching as the waves crashed against the bow of the boat. The elves had put wards up around the ship to keep water from creeping onto the boat, and to protect the ship against the elements. Blodhgarm had decided instead of the ship always sailing on its own, that he or whoever wanted to could manage the ship as they pleased, as long as they didn't send them reeling off course.
As usual, he was resting in the middle crow's nest of the ship, which often felt like it was going to fall over due to the rocking of the entire ship. But that's part of the reason he spent most of his time up here. The ever constant fear of the forward mast tipping over and crashing kept him on edge, and the other fact that it was so quietthat he could not hear all the other elves.
Saphira often soared above him, enjoying the fact that she could fly freely with Galbatorix dead. However, the one time she did try and balance on the high perch, causing a cacophony of damage to their sailing speed, the crow's nest did indeed collapse starboard, yet with quick reaction and excellent timing, the elves hastily repaired their fallen wooden companion, and their journey continued eastward. The elves believed it was quite the laugh, but Saphira being the vain creature that she is wouldn't speak to anyone but her rider for the rest of the day.
A boisterous and loud screeching sound caught his attention for a brief moment before he turned back to his book solely focused on life in the east, beyond Alagaesia. That's when it hit him. Birds!
He shot up and stared forward, past the bow of the ship, and lo and behold, a land mass stood what must've been at least ten miles away. It looked like only a speck on the horizon with one single peak standing in solitude.
Eragon heard cheers and songs from below, signaling that the elves had also seen the island. They had done it!
He shot up in the bed in a cold sweat, his pistol aimed at the target of intrusion. The alarm clock. Eragon had half a mind to shoot it right then and there, but as Saphira had told him many times, 'shooting your alarm is just gonna have to make you buy a new one.'
But his dream greatly disturbed him. He could feel his past thoughts. And those names that he heard were odd. Galbatorix. It sounded so familiar. Like an old friend of his, or enemy. And there were elves? Eragon kept trying to pull at the dream, to try and memorize more, but eventually the dream faded away with only one thought in his head. Galbatorix.
He pressed the stop button on the alarm clock and rolled out of bed, landing in a perfect push up position.
Over a hundred pushups and a cold shower later to wake him up, he stepped out of the bathroom, trying to tie his tie. Once again, he couldn't get the tie in a straight line nor could he get it the right size. He thought about using magic to tie it, but in the past years he and Saphira had only been using magic when necessary.
Eragon grumbled and decided to take a casual day, pulling off the tie and unbuttoning his white shirt. Instead, he pulled on a pair of khaki jeans and a thick blue t-shirt. Not exactly the best attire to wear on the first day, but he had enough casual day cards from last year to make up for it. He walked out of his room and nearly crashed into Saphira, who was wearing a deep blue t-shirt and gym shorts, along with tennis shoes. She never did dress formally for work.
He smiled at her as he did every morning on days like this, as if to say, "You look beautiful."
Saphira smiled back and they both walked towards the kitchen; Eragon pulling two pans out of the low cabinet, and Saphira pulling the eggs, bacon, and shredded cheese out from the refrigerator. It was almost like a dance that they had perfected. Right when Saphira cracks open an egg, he places one of the smaller pans under it and turns on the burner. Right after that Saphira grabs four strips of bacon and tossed them in his direction, one at a time, and he catches them in the skillet and sets it on the stove as well, which Saphira lit right after he caught all the pieces of bacon.
In a few short minutes, their breakfast has been placed on a plate, courtesy of Eragon, and they are eating.
Eragon looked to his right and saw Saphira's cheeks stuffed full before she swallowed it all in one big gulp, not even needing to drink something afterwards. He looked down at his single piece of bacon that he had just taken a bite of. Despite four pieces of bacon being cooked, three of them went to Saphira while one went to Eragon, as he was still prone to eat less meat than Saphira did.
When she saw him staring at her, she glared back before she noticed the time on the clock.
"Holy shit!" She exclaimed before shoving the rest of the eggs in her mouth and snatching her purse. Eragon simply ignored her until his fork was halfway between his mouth and his plate before a hand gripped his elbow and yanked him off the stool where he was sitting, causing the fork to clatter onto his plate.
"What the heck Saphira?!" Eragon shouted, futilely trying to reach for his fork.
"Its 6:45 Eragon! That's the heck! We're supposed to be at work within the next ten minutes and you're asking what the heck is?!" Saphira shouted.
"Eom eka," Eragon whispered, raising his left palm and aiming it at his dark red bag that held all of the papers he needed for the day. To me.
He had just managed to free himself from Saphira when he caught his bag by the straps and wrapped it around his shoulder. Eragon sighed and followed a rampaging Saphira out of the apartment, ranting about how they were going to be late, and that Mr. Quinzel was going to fire them if they were late.
"Saphira, we are literally right next to where we work. We will not be late," Eragon emphasized.
His blue companion practically dragged him down the stairs (the elevator was under maintenance) and outside the apartment complex. They took the side alley next to their apartment complex and walked along until they reached the metal door marked 'Bromsin'. He finally managed to break free once Saphira had to pull out her keys to unlock the door to her office. Saphira nearly slammed the door shut on him but he barely managed to stop it with four of his right hand fingers.
The impact of the door never happened, and the door was about two inches away from his hand. He had thought of wards for everything. Excluding beer bottles of course.
Hmm, I'm going to have to add that on their pretty soon, Eragon thought to himself, Saphira too busy bustling around her office for him to hear his thoughts clearly.
Eragon stepped inside the small office and walked towards the inside exit.
"Stop!" Saphira shouted. "Are you not going to wish your sister a good day?"
He scowled and walked over to Saphira, positioning his bag over his shoulder so it was more comfortable. She smiled smugly and stretched out her arms to give him a hug. Eragon shook his head and smiled before embracing her and whispering in her ear.
"Good luck Saffron, try not to kill anybody either."
Saphira laughed and punched him on the shoulder. "You too Eric."
Eragon waved one final goodbye before walking out the door and heading down the tiled hallways. The ceiling was made of a tiled and hardened material, and the floor was made of concrete with a ceramic covering. In less than forty seven seconds, he had made it to the main office, where Mr. Quinzel worked along with the two ladies who worked at the front desk.
He grabbed a red piece of paper out of one of the baskets and grabbed a nearby pen, signing it with his 'name'.
He used a strip of tape and taped it across the small piece of paper, leaving enough room for it to be taped to something. One of the women at the front desk, Sandy he believed her name was, noticing him taping a casual day slip and winked at him.
Eragon ignored it and walked towards Mr. Quinzel's closed office door. Without any decor whatsoever, he slapped the casual day form onto the door, making sure the tape stuck, and walked away towards his area of the building.
That was the bell, signaling that all of the staff and faculty had to be at work, otherwise they were considered late. Of course, the bell did signify something else though. Something darker. Something much more sinister. The arrival of high school students.
Yes. Eragon did teach high school. No. Eragon was not out of his mind (Okay, maybe a little). For some odd reason, it felt right to him. Like it was what he was supposed to be doing. Other than fighting of course. In teaching high schoolers, he could teach the next generation of human beings, even if they were practically immature eight year olds stuck in a seventeen year old body.
Eragon opened the wooden door to his classroom and kicked the kickstand to keep the door propped open. He set his bag on his desk in the front left corner of the room, directly opposite the door. The shouting and elephant stomps of high schoolers reached his incredibly sensitive elf-ears, which were of course rounded along with his eyes to appear human. As he learned so long ago, humans were so fragile, and could break at a moment's notice; proven by Saphira punching someone and the result was their skull being shattered. In all proven ways, she seemed to keep the strength of a grown dragon, along with the ferocity of one. Sadly, she longer contained wings and couldn't fly without the aid of magic. Fire-breathing was a whole other matter entirely.
He had just set his briefcase on the desk when his first student barged into the room, shouting his name at the top of her lungs.
"MR. BROMSIN! MR. BROMSIN!"
"Phoebe! Enough with the shouting, you just might have killed some poor soul in Africa," Eragon admonished with a slight tease. Although to be honest her shouting really did vibrate his skull.
He waited for Phoebe to catch her breath, for it appeared she must have run all the way to his classroom.
"Mr. Bromsin… do you… remember the… other day when I…" Phoebe then proceeded to suck in a large breath of air. "Mr. Bromsin do you remember the other day when I told you that I had applied for a job at the library across the street?"
Not really. "Yes, of course. What about it?" Eragon asked.
"I GOT THE JOB!" Phoebe burst out.
Eragon literally flinched and jumped back two feet, muttering to himself afterwards. "Dear Napoleon, what does that child eat in the mornings?"
He tried, he really did try to pull off the best smile he could tell her congratulations, but even though most of his heart was in it, a small part was not. Probably because that girl was always so damn hyper. How the hell did she get a job in a library of all places?
After berating Phoebe and telling her to sit in her seat, more and more of his students began to trickle into the classroom.
Finally, at 7:30 came the next bell, signaling that school was now in session and that if any students weren't in their classrooms by now, then they were late.
After calling out role, and quite a few not even answering because they were asleep, he pulled the projector screen down and turned on the projector with his new remote. Immediately he launched into his lesson, exploring the 1100s with his students. He had a teaching method that was quite simple really. Since he taught post-1000 A.D and one of his coworkers taught pre-1000 A.D, he decided that since there only a thousand years since 1000 A.D, and only ten months of school, that he would teach one hundred years a month. It wasn't a perfect method, but it worked most of the time, and his students seemed to enjoy it.
Some of his students, such as Phoebe for example, were paying rapt attention, soaking up his every word and jotting down notes for the test he was going to assign at the end of the week. Others, such as Damian, weren't even paying any attention at all. Damian appeared to be too busy thinking about the sex he had had the night previously with Kelsey, another one of his students.
Kelsey on the other hand was not even thinking of Damian, or sex, or her bedroom. She was far too busy thinking about whether she should get Cocaine or Marijuana later in the evening. Sometimes, he really hated his students.
Just a few seconds after finishing with the story of the first influenza outbreak in Iceland did the bell ring.
Immediately the students stood up and ran out of the classroom, either eager to go their next class, or wanting the day to be over and done with.
Eragon looked up from his notes to look at the clock, and saw that it was 8:31 in the morning. Only six more hours until school was finished, and then another hour after that until he could actually leave the school.
Four hours later, Eragon was about ready to slam himself into the wall. Most of his students were eager to learn, while the ones that weren't caused a huge disruption in either the classroom itself, or his mind. Sometimes breaching his students' minds was quite useful, no matter how dishonest it was. He could tell if they were going to cheat on a test, or where they were going to be exchanging drugs during the class changes.
Thankfully, four hours after first period meant it was time for his almost two hour planning period and lunch. So right after fifth period ended, he locked his classroom door as the final student left, and he began to head towards the teachers' lounge, where several of his fellow coworkers, Saphira included, were gathered around the several tables to eat their lunch. He and Saphira, along with three other teachers, had made an arrangement of sorts that on each day of the week one would bring lunch for the five of them to eat.
Today, it was Bruce's turn. Bruce did hold a respect for World History, but his heart and soul was in Algebra II. Of the five of them, Carol and Isabelle were the best cooks, and would often volunteer to bring something in if one of them couldn't. Carol was one of the school's Biology teachers, while Isabelle was possibly the sternest English teacher you could find.
And of course, back when he and Saphira first applied to teach at the school, they were separated from everyone else. Until the PTO funded a dinner and that would be where the two met the three other teachers. And from there they had just hit it off, becoming great friends.
Bruce brought what he did every single Friday. Chicken schnitzel and homemade French fries. Eragon did stand by what he said. Carol and Isabelle were the best cooks out of the five of them, but Bruce didn't cook this. It was Bruce's wife that cooked it. Eragon began to unpack the food, already smelling the deliciousness of the schnitzel.
Right when the last of the Tupperware containers were unpacked from the, the lounge phone rang. Nigh on nobody cared to hear it, as it rang all the time, so Tenga Ingvar, a foreign man who taught Ancient History, stood up to take the call. Nobody paid any attention until -
"Bromsin!" Tenga shouted, startling everybody in the vicinity.
Both Saphira and Eragon looked up at Tenga, pausing in loading their plates with the food.
"Not you, him!" Tenga said, once again shouting, but this time pointing at Eragon. "Sandra's calling about someone asking for you, wants you at the front office." So her name is Sandra, not Sandy. Saphira's been watching too much Grease. Tenga must have misunderstood Eragon's puzzled look, for he then reiterated himself. "There's someone in the front office here to see you."
Eragon understood clearly what the old man had said, but he didn't understand who would possibly be here to see him of all people. The only friends he had were at the table where he was sitting. Could it be his landlord? No, that wouldn't make sense. Jonathan knew he was a teacher and wouldn't bother him at school. It certainly wouldn't be their neighbor who must've been at least eighty years old and owned six cats.
He sure did hope it wasn't George Washington rising from the grave intending to haunt Eragon for the beating Eragon gave George. Okay, that was ridiculous, but who could it be?
"Alright, tell her I'm on my way," he said, mostly to himself.
As Eragon pushed his chair back and stood up, Saphira asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"
Before Eragon could say anything, Bruce interrupted him. "Aw, come on Saffron, Eric's a big boy."
Eragon glared at Bruce before staring at him hard and saying, "Do you even lift Master Wayne?"
At the end of his sentence, Eragon cracked the smallest of smiles and walked out of the teacher's lounge, heading straight towards the front office, which wasn't a very long distance.
Behind him he could hear Bruce say to the group, "Do kids even say that anymore?"
But something wasn't right, something was off. As he walked the tiled floors of Southwest High School, he couldn't help but be brought back to the dream he had the night before. Why did he, for the first time in forever, dream about his homeland? Was it a premonition? Those were rarely good.
As he came closer and closer to the front office, he could hear raised voices; well; at least one raised voice and the calm and collected one of the other. When he was just about to enter the office, the oval scar on his hand began to glow a faint iridescent blue. When he noticed this, he silently said the words in his head to hide the glow, but was oddly unable to remove the scar itself.
The only time he was able to hide the scar was when he rubbed dirt on his palm. No amount of magic could be used to hide the thing, unless you summoned dirt to cover your palm which was essentially the same thing.
Right as he entered the office the raised voice turned into a sweet yet very fake tone of voice.
"Oh Eric, there you are!" Sandra said, practically fawning over him.
Eragon decided to get to the point, wanting to avoid further contact with the woman. "I was told there was someone here to see me?"
"Well, she says she's here for a Bromsson, not Bromsin, so she could have easily mistaken you for somebody else." And as Sandra kept blabbing on, Eragon was frozen stock still. Was it really just a simple mistake, or was this person from his homeland?
Eragon finally looked at the person who had wanted to see him, and his mind came up blank. He knew he should know this person, that they were important to him, but he had never seen her before. It was like she was a very old friend, but had died several years ago and he couldn't remember their face, or name for that matter. And then it hit him. He knew where she came from, and he knew this was the woman he had been dreaming about for thousands of years. Only two words escaped his mouth, and he was confident that she heard him.
A/N: And that's it. Some fans may recognize the big differences in this chapter compared to the previous one, I had to rewrite half of it because I didn't like it, but here it is. Review and follow and favorite and all that!